Buried_In_Westgate
by Gadrin
Summary: Another Forgotten Realms story please read and review -- thanks :)


This is a D&D FanFic set in the Forgotten Realms... Based on  
characters from WoTC's great CLOAK & DAGGER.  
  
  
Marpenoth 18, Year of the Gauntlet, 1369 DR  
  
Twilight Hall, City of Berdusk 9PM  
  
to unlock the secret  
retrieve the key  
a collection of wisdom  
touches the Fallen Sea  
head west by foot  
for it lay underground  
safe from shapeshifters  
shielded and bound  
  
"That translation was devlishly hard," confessed Chief Scrivener,  
Haurus Vilheed. "Those crabbed letters play havoc with the eyes."  
  
The man standing next to him, a loremaster of Oghma, Brinsuldyn  
Mirrotor nodded, "Yes, just what is that, Dethek?"  
  
"Close, it's has all the sigils of Dethek, plus some variations, and  
these," Haurus pointed to several reoccuring symbols, "they're false  
symbols and mean nothing. Those priests were trying to protect  
something."  
  
The priests that Haurus was alluding to, were priests of Leira. The  
Lady of Mists and Illusion, Dame of Deception. The translation had  
taken his sect two years to unravel.  
  
Mirrortor examined the translation Vilheed handed him and studied it  
carefully. "A poem? It looks like the key to this secret is in  
another tome."  
  
The priest of Deneir removed his spectacles and pulled the servant's  
cord, "It seems to be located in a city near a body of water called  
the Fallen Sea." A monk appeared and Haurus instructed him to fetch  
one of his map cases.  
  
"The author must mean the Sea of Fallen Stars," offered Mirrortor,  
pausing as the monk entered and handed over the huge parchment map.  
Vilheed quickly located the immense area known as the Sea of Fallen  
Stars. "Ummm, how many cities around the Sea of Fallen Stars?" asked  
the sage.  
  
"Gods, many," Haurus counted for several moments. "Too many, more  
than we have explorers for."  
  
"I can have my people research all sects of Leira in the area,"  
replied the sage, "But it's going to be a small amount, far, far  
less than the number of cities."  
  
"Possibly," countered Haurus, "But given our limited resources,  
we'll have to start somewhere..."  
  
"Where did you get this?" asked Mirrortor.  
  
"A former priest of Leira, from the shrine here in town," explained  
Haurus. "During the time of troubles. With Leira missing and no one  
granting him spells, the poor fellow sold it to me. He had bills to  
pay. He said it protected something valuable, though it was no  
longer of any value to him," Haurus made a face, as if to say  
"strange."  
  
"May I borrow this?" Mirrortor held up the translation, "I'd like to  
see what my lore-spells can discern."  
  
"I've already tried," Haurus said, "But found nothing. Remember this  
is Leira we speak of," explained the Head Scrivener. "Wherever this  
collection of wisdom resides, it's more than likely well hidden."  
  
"Very well," Mirrortor seemed frustrated, but he wasn't about to  
give up. "I'll speak to our Harper friends and those among the  
Heralds. I should be able to compose a list of temples and shrines  
here," his hand circled the area on the map, near the Sea of Fallen  
Stars. "I'll have copies of the poem scribed. We can organize search  
teams. With any luck, might have results by Ches."  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Year of the Tankard, 1370 DR  
  
Blais Inn -- City of Westgate 6PM  
  
Varrk eased through the crowd before stopping on the periphery of  
the room, inside a thick stone archway. The taproom was packed,  
creatures of all types were crowded about in small groups,  
drinking, talking and arguing. There was the occaisional flash of  
light from a bright gem or the soft hum of power from a magical  
staff that touched his senses. However, something else attracted  
Varrk's attention.  
  
Off in the far corner, a gentle eddy of smoke rose towards the thick  
beams that supported the roof. A rakshasa sat quietly, pausing at  
times to pull on a hookah, while the dark woman seated on his lap  
ran her fingers through the creature's fur. The cat-beast's yellow  
eyes followed Varrk as he moved about. Varrk felt compelled to pay  
the evil beast a visit, but that would have to wait. He'd been  
summoned to the inn by magic and first needed to find who was behind  
it and why.  
  
"Varrk, Varrk," called a female voice over the taproom's din. The  
hound archon smiled at the rakshasa, adjusted the greatsword that  
was slung across his back and trod over to the sorceress. "Follow  
me," she said simply.  
  
Blais House was a maze of extra-dimensional passages, and the silk  
-clad woman led Varrk down a long hall, lined with doors. Behind the  
far door he found an elderly human male, sitting crosslegged on the  
floor.  
  
"Varrk?" asked the man. The hound archon nodded. "I'm Mintassan, the  
one who summoned you. The magic-user made a gesture for him to sit,  
but Varrk shook his head. So much for who, now why.  
  
"I understand you can follow instructions and employ discretion,"  
stated the mage.  
  
Varrk bared his teeth in what the magic-user could only assume was a  
smile.  
  
"I'd like you to retrieve something for friends of mine," the mage  
produced a folded piece of parchment. "Somewhere beneath this town  
lies a book. I'd like you to find it and bring it to me."  
  
"That's all?" asked Varrk. He was hoping for more. It was his first  
time to the Realms, and he wanted to see more of Abeir-Toril.  
  
"No. It needs to be done quietly and I'm afraid your present form,"  
a small smile broke on the mage's face, "Might not lend itself to  
that end. You may have to interact with the citizenry."  
  
"I can alter form," said Varrk. "Four-legged only."  
  
"That's what I hear," Mintassan raised his hands, palms facing the  
ceiling. A piece of parchment and an inkwell and quill floated down.  
He immediately began scribbling.  
  
"There's a tower on Twoturrets Lane," the mage explained, "The  
landlord deals in potions. Her name is Lady Imryth. I'm sure the she  
can assist you." Mintassan handed the writing to Varrk. "Perhaps you  
can visit her tonight, after dark, she'll not be bothered by your  
current form."  
  
Varrk thought his natural looks were fine, but understood why others  
might not find it as such.  
  
"Tolka will show you out."  
  
Varrk followed the woman back to the inn's taproom. The rakshasa and  
his female companion were gone, causing Varrk to bare his teeth  
again. He'd heard the creatures could employ ESP and his thoughts  
had been most direct.  
  
Tolka pointed towards the taproom, "It's still light in the city,"  
she explained, "And you have a few hours left yet. Make yourself  
comfortable and I'll call you."  
  
Varrk said nothing, waded into the room, found an empty chair next  
to a Green Slaad and studied Mintassan's message.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Imryth Tower -- City of Westgate 9PM  
  
Varrk heard a woman scream.  
  
Priestess Imryth's tower was lit, but currently vacant. Varrk had  
crossed the city in the form of a stray dog before changing back to  
his normal self and knocking at the keep's thick, wooden door. No  
servants, no sign, no one. So he transformed back into his  
four-legged shape and found a spot to curl up in the dark nearby, to  
await the lady's return.  
  
His ears pointed up and he faced south, his snout investigating the  
night breeze. The woman's scream ended abruptly and he raced off,  
down the alley, which lead into another. He came around the corner  
encountering two men struggling with a female. With a growl he  
charged, sinking his teeth into the thief who held her.  
  
The thief cried out, "Pike, get this mutt off me!" The other robber  
dropped the woman's bag and drew a shortsword. As he came near,  
Varrk let go and began barking, dodging side to side, easily evading  
his would-be attacker. The thief who held the woman, wrestled with  
her, while his partner chased the animal away.  
  
"He's gone," Pike strolled back chuckling at his friend's  
misfortune. After sheathing his weapon, he bent over to retrieve the  
woman's bag, noticing a pair of boots in front of him where moments  
ago none had been. He glanced up slightly, noticing the boots had  
legs connected to them. Before he could cry out a thick fist clubbed  
the nape of his neck and a knee smashed into his face.  
  
As Pike dropped unconscious, the other thief became aware of this  
new threat. Clasping the struggling woman close, he removed his  
dagger, "Keep back! I'm warnin' ya..."  
  
The sound of steel being drawn cut the robber's threat short. The  
street was nearly pitch black but the man thought the dark figure  
held a very long sword.  
  
"Not much of weapon you have there," Varrk said calmly.  
  
The thief pushed the woman towards his menace and raced to escape.  
  
Varrk caught the woman in one of his powerful arms, "Are you  
alright?"  
  
"Yes, I think so, I just..." her voice trailed off as she realized  
she was face-to-face with a strange, dog-creature. She looked like  
she was about to scream, so Varrk released her.  
  
"Here's your bag," he said, handing it to her. "I suggest you get  
home."  
  
The woman nodded, stammered her thanks, then hurried off quickly.  
  
Varrk shook his head. A groan came from Pike, who lay on the ground  
behind the hound archon.  
  
Varrk resheathed his sword, strode over to Pike and gave the man a  
swift kick, before returning to Imryth's tower.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Wyvernlorn's Wayhouse -- City of Urmlaspyr 11PM  
  
"Temple to Leira? Hidden underground?" the voice wafted in between  
the dozen or so other conversations at the gateside tavern.  
  
A lady, dressed in a crimson robe, overheard the exhange. She slowly  
let down her red hood, but didn't look towards the pair.  
  
"No. Definitely not here, though I thought..." the response was  
overcome by a group of sailors enjoying a lusty laugh. The woman in  
red cursed under her breath, and looked over sideways. The pair  
didn't notice her, one a halfling, the other a human, a swordsman by  
the looks of him. They'd concluded their talk and were drinking.  
  
A man approached the lady's table, "Evenin' Mistress Tyaa..." The  
woman countered with a handsign for silence. Unsure, he remained in  
place, a look of confusion on his face.  
  
"What did you say to me?" she screeched. She flung her drink in the  
man's face. This prompted the sailors to further laughter and  
attracted the halfling and swordsman's attention. "I'll have you  
know I'm not that sort!" her gruff manner continued. She stood and  
kicked the man in the shin, then turned to leave, weaving her way  
nervously through the crowded tavern, making certain she stumbled  
into the swordsman. "P-p-pardon," she blubbered.   
  
When she reached the door, she signed for her soaking henchman to  
follow, which he did, though somewhat reluctantly.  
  
The swordsman spotted the man following her out and stood, so he  
might intervene on the woman's behalf. The halfling shook his head  
and wished his contact luck.  
  
Outside, the night air held a cool breeze. The swordsman spotted the  
woman run across the street and try to enter a building that was   
obviously locked up for the night. She banged on the door then  
looked to her left in shock, as something had surprised her. She ran  
around the building, disappearing along its side. A dark shadow  
followed, slinking around the storefront, in slow pursuit.  
  
The swordsman charged across the street. In the dark alley he  
noticed a pair of shadowy figures. One struggled, freeing itself  
from the other and approached the swordsman. A sobbing female voice  
reached his ears as the dark form came closer. "H-help me, sir!" it  
pleaded. It was the woman from the Wayhouse and she clung to the  
swordsman's side.  
  
"Hold there you leacherous scoundrel," the swordsman's tone was firm  
yet threatening. He pushed the red-cloaked lady behind him and drew  
his sword.  
  
The man from the bar stood in the dark alley, slowly raising his  
hands as if the gesture would allay his attacker.  
  
"I'll show you what..." the swordsman's defiant words were suddenly  
cut short as a stunning blow to the back of his head changed the  
shadowy darkness of the alley into a spectacular bright flash of  
light, before fading quickly to the comfortable blackness of  
unconsciousness.  
  
"Barclay, help me," hissed the woman, carefully replacing the  
magically shrunken staff of striking into its hiding place in the  
small of her back. The pair disarmed the swordsman and moved him  
deeper into the shadows. Barclay made to speak but the woman cut him  
off before he could. "Ssh! Get a wagon, quickly. We'll move him to  
the warehouse."  
  
Barclay nodded, though still confused by the whole episode. He  
shrugged. If the Scarlet Mistress wanted it done, who was he to  
protest?  
  
She returned her attention to the fallen swordsman, quickly checking  
his pockets for his possessions and discovered a few items. She  
stepped into the lamplight of the neighboring building which  
revealed a tinderbox containing flint and steel, a small purse of  
coins, and a folded parchment, upon which was scribed a short poem.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sewers of Wesgate (western portion) -- City of Westgate 11AM  
  
  
It seemed logical to Varrk that since this errand required skulking  
underground, he should hire someone a bit more familiar with the  
environment. His visit with Priestess Imryth had provided him with a  
pair of magical draughts which allowed him to assume human form. So  
he found a room at the Leaning Man Inn and set out the following day  
to find someone capable. He hired a dwarf.  
  
"There's a sliding passage just ahead," explained Ridra, walking  
back to the place where Varrk was resting. "It's a big block of  
stone nearly a spear-length deep, so it'll take both of us to move  
it."  
  
"Sliding passage?" Varrk was confused, "Isn't there a way to uh,   
slide it?"  
  
"Aye," replied Ridra, "There once was. I found a lever, but the  
mechanism has been fouled. My guess is that someone wanted to seal  
it off."  
  
Varrk's nose wrinkled, "Something's burning." A few small puffs of  
black smoke wafted along the tunnel ceiling.  
  
"Yeah," said the dwarf, "There's moss and algae all over the main  
passage in there," the dwarf angled his head back towards the area  
he'd just come from. "It's already slick as ice so I poured oil on  
it and set it on fire. It'll make it easier to scrape off." The  
dwarf produced a waterskin and drank quickly. "We're going to need  
good footing if we're going to move that large block."  
  
Varrk sat down next to the dwarf and bit into his rations. The pair  
had spent the morning navigating the city's sewers, a digustingly  
horrid task for a creature of advanced olfactory capacity, but  
necessary, if they were to reach their objective. Progress had been  
slow, since the place was a virtual maze. Even with the dwarf's  
ability to judge distance and location underground, they'd still hit  
dead-ends and followed false passages. It was the dwarf's reckoning  
they currently were within a hundred feet of the ruined Temple of  
Leira, up above. The trouble was that all of the passages lead them  
away from their destination, until Ridra discovered the sliding, stone  
block.  
  
"You got any money?" Ridra asked.  
  
Varrk nodded, he still had two small gems left, after hiring the  
dwarf.  
  
"Good, you'll have to go back and find a pair of hoes, so we can  
clear the floor," Ridra sipped more water, "Go to Myrkeer's Emporium  
and find some acid, the type that eats through metal." The dwarf  
propped up a lit torch and wrapped his thick, fingers around its  
base. "There's two, rusted metal studs that's keeping the block from  
sliding. We get rid of those and we get to move on. Also, find us  
another hammer, some spikes, and a couple of coils of sturdy rope,  
we'll need to make sure the dang thing don't close behind us!" he  
guffawed, slapping Varrk on the shoulder.  
  
Ridra fished a piece of chalk from his leather doublet. "When you  
get goin', use this to mark your way. I don't want to have to spend  
the rest of the night tryin' to find ya 'cause ye got lost."  
  
Varrk nodded, and pocketed the chalk. He finished his small meal  
then set out for the surface, moving a few passages beyond Ridra's  
sight before stopping. He marked the spot, so he could return later.  
Then, closing his eyes, he pictured the alley near Lady Imryth's  
tower in his mind, and teleported out.  
  
  
* * * * *   
  
Tyaa Tymmyr's Apartment -- City of Westgate 8PM  
  
  
"Well if it isn't my missing priestess," the whisper-like voice  
echoed in Tyaa's head. "Let me guess, you've come back to ask a  
favor of me, spells no doubt."  
  
In her loft on Woodside Way, the Scarlet Mistress knelt before a  
make-shift symbol she'd scribed in wax on the floor. It was  
triangular-shaped, inverted, and held a mound of smouldering incense  
within its bounds, which lifted a thin cloud of smoke towards the  
ceiling. Tyaa renewed her concentration and amended her request:  
spells AND information.  
  
"What is hidden from you Tyaa?" continued the whisper, "What is it  
that you cannot see?"  
  
Tyaa shifted her thoughts to the Hidden Temple, that she'd learned  
from the swordsman in Urmlaspyr. The man had carried a poem, which  
was obviously a cipher for a hidden treasure. She thought that the  
Hidden Lady might reward her for allowing it to remain hidden.  
  
"And what concern would such a thing be to someone as faithless as  
yourself? Surely you don't expect me to share my bounty with you?"  
came the reply.  
  
Tyaa breathed deeply, it was the first time in years she'd used  
supplication and the Hidden Lady was making her pay for her  
abandonment. She focused her thoughts on the fact that the treasure  
it spoke of was important to the Hidden Lady's Sect. She only heard   
laughter, as Cyric impersonating the dead Leira, was having a ball.  
She concentrated again, this time on the fact that the Treasure had  
been secreted during the Time of Troubles and Leira's "absence."  
  
This time there was no smug response, no laughter--nothing. Tyaa  
waited for several moments before assuming that she'd gone too far  
and the Hidden Lady had broken contact.  
  
"Well, it seems my priestess has my interests at heart," the reply  
--no longer a whisper -- was strong, unlike anything Tyaa had  
experienced before. Her body began to quake. "Your spells shall be  
renewed come the sunrise, as long as you pursue the treasure. Obtain  
it and I shall welcome you back to my good graces...permanently. But  
hurry, someone else treads the same path as you, but has already  
taken several strides towards the goal. Retrieve the  
treasure...retrieve the treasure...retrieve the treasure...retrieve  
the treasure..." the voice returned to a whisper, getting softer and  
softer before fading.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sewers of Westgate (western portion) -- City of Westgate 8AM  
  
  
"Well I'll be damned," said Ridra. The dwarf and Varrk had managed  
to slide the stone block aside, then spike it so it couldn't shift  
back. The block was massive, but set to pivot just like the dwarf  
had described, making the pair's work much, much easier. The sewer  
passage gave way to a smaller, worked stone tunnel that, save for  
several large spider webs was much cleaner and easier on the pair's  
nose. The two followed the tunnel inwards about eighty or ninety  
paces before coming to a square chamber. It too was worked stone,  
comprised of similar but smaller stone blocks that protected the  
connector tunnel from discovery. The square vault rose thirty or  
forty feet straight up.  
  
"What's that?" Varrk pointed towards the ceiling.  
  
Just beyond the edge of the torchlight the roof of the chamber  
seemed to fold in.  
  
"Yer askin' me?" snorted the dwarf, who barely came up past Varrk's  
midriff. "Give me a boost up, on yer shoulders and I'll have a  
look-see."  
  
Varrk gazed at the short man, then decided it was worth it and got  
down on one knee. He stood, swaying a bit then handed up the torch.  
Ridra held his left hand and sat back, then pressed his boot soles  
painfully into Varrk's shoulders as he fought to stand. Again the  
pair swayed but held their position. Varrk looked up but could only  
see the dwarf's legs.  
  
"What-ya see?" he grunted.  
  
"I'll be damned," the dwarf's voice echoed about the tall chamber.  
"It's a door! Damned thing's shaped like a shield."  
  
"Owww!" groaned Varrk, the dwarf's heels had dug into his shoulders  
as the little man shifted his weight.  
  
"Sorry feller," the dwarf apologized. "Easy now, swing around to  
your right, let's see if there's anything else up there."   
  
There wasn't and Ridra was lowered back to the chamber's floor. The  
square chamber went straight up about thirty feet where a small lip  
protruded from the wall, all about the chamber's walls. On what the  
dwarf determined was the north face, lay the shield-shaped door.  
  
The pair sat and rested briefly before Varrk inspected the chamber's  
flagstones. Using a dagger he was able to clear out the dirt between  
the blocks. There was space in there. He used the hammer and pounded  
in a spike. It took alot of effort but he was able to hammer it in  
far enough to make a foothold.  
  
"Good man," said the dwarf. "You can do it, but it'll take ye a  
bit."  
  
Varrk nodded, "Yes, better get started then."  
  
Two hours later Varrk had a metal ladder built and climbed easily up  
to the door.  
  
"It's made of metal," he called down to Ridra. The whole roof of the  
chamber was immeshed in spiderwebs and a thick layer of dust,  
including the metal door. There was something embossed on the door,  
which the hound archon couldn't quite make out.  
  
Down below, Ridra watched as Varrk brushed the dust from the door  
and examine it via the torchlight. There was a sudden flash,  
followed by a cascade of sparks which engulfed the taller man's body  
completely. He screamed, before losing his balance and plummeting to  
the chamber's floor.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Tyaa Tymmyr's Apartment -- City of Westgate 2PM  
  
"I don't think you broke anything," said a female voice to Varrk.  
The hound archon's eyes blinked thrice before he was aware he was  
staring into the face of a woman. "Easy," she said as he started,  
"Your friend's right here." Varrk rose slowly from the feather bed.  
He was in an apartment, somewhere in the city. As the lady had said,  
Ridra stood a few feet away, smoking a corn-cob pipe.  
  
"Howdya feel?" asked the dwarf.  
  
"Sore," Varrk grimaced, as he tried to raise his left arm, his  
shoulder was extremely stiff. His mouth opened as his head began to  
throb. The room swam. He gulped down some wine the priestess brought  
him.  
  
"Ye almost killed me," Ridra pulled the pipe from between his lips.  
"Had a devil of a time draggin' ye from that maze," he pointed the  
pipe towards the woman. "Luckily, she spotted me pullin' ye out of  
the tunnel mouth. Turns out she's a priestess. Had a couple of her  
faithful help me."  
  
"I'm grateful," said Varrk, slowly easing to his feet. The dwarf  
slung an arm about his waist to steady him. Just walking was a very  
painful experience.  
  
"You should remain here," said the priestess, "That's my  
professional opinion as a healer."  
  
Varrk shook his head, "I've something to attend to."  
  
"Well, whatever it is I'm sure it can hold until tomorrow," Mistress  
Tyaa stood with her arms crossed, shaking her head. She had thought  
the mixture of poison should have worked by now. Obviously this man  
was much sturdier than she had estimated.  
  
"Aye," said the dwarf, "Ye don't move too swiftly." He helped Varrk  
back to the bed.  
  
"Tell me lady priest," said Varrk, "I encountered a symbol of some  
type. I think it was in the form of a glyph or rune. The door was in  
the shape of a shield."  
  
Tyaa shuddered involuntarily, remembering the poem, "Ah, explains  
your sudden loss of balance, and why your hand is in a clench."  
Varrk glanced at his hands. Noticing the fingers on the one that  
touched the door were all contracted. He flexed it twice, but it  
closed on its own each time. "My advice would be stay away from that  
door." At this point she knew Varrk was a shapeshifter of some type.  
  
"All well and good," Varrk lay completely back. "But I've been hired  
to retrieve something beyond the door."  
  
"It's your funeral," the priestess shot back immediately, which  
struck Varrk as odd.   
  
There was a knock on the door. And two men entered. They spoke in  
hushed tones to the priestess.  
  
"I'm afraid something's come up," explained the priestess, donning a  
scarlet cloak. "I've some things to attend to in town. Perhaps if  
your dwarven friend, Ridra will remain behind I can tend to my  
business and we can discuss your condition when I return. In the  
meantime, you should get some sleep. I've some contacts in town,"  
she continued, "Perhaps I can concoct something to assist you."  
  
This seemed odd too. A moment ago she was dead against him going,  
now, she's suddenly willing to assist him. A flash of pain raced  
through the hound archon's throbbing head.  
  
"Maybe you're right though," Varrk said, "I think I can wait another  
day."  
  
"Aye, I'll be happy to stay," said Ridra, watching as the priestess  
and the two men left.  
  
"Funny," said Varrk, after a few moments. "Those two don't seem like  
the religious type." Varrk stared at Ridra, "And how come we're not  
at her temple?"  
  
A small smile came over the dwarf, and he shrugged.  
  
Eventually the poison took its toll on Varrk. But, instead of  
killing him it dropped him into a deep sleep.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sewers of Wesgate (western portion) -- City of Westgate 11PM  
  
"I thought things could wait until tomorrow?" said Varrk as he  
entered the square chamber. The hound archon grabbed a torch propped  
at the base of the chamber's entrance and strode over to Ridra.  
  
Ridra, who had expected to see his partner sooner or later, mouthed  
a gruff greeting.  
  
The chamber was lit by a pair of bull's eye lanterns. Varrk's eyes  
darted about but other than a pack and a staff, noticed no one else.  
  
"Where is she?" asked the hound archon.  
  
"She's gone to an apothecary," explained Ridra. The dwarf stood at  
the base of the spike ladder Varrk had built, staring at the door.  
"She says the door is warded against intrusion by non-Leirists, or  
some such nonsense."  
  
"Non-Leirists?" Varrk asked, "What about her?"  
  
Ridra gave Varrk a wry look.  
  
"Ah!" exclaimed Varrk, "She's a priestess of the Hidden Lady. Well,  
that explains a few things." This also worried Varrk. Why was the  
lady helping them loot her temple?  
  
Varrk's sensitive ears picked up the sound of footfalls echoing  
along the walls of the sewer. He stepped back into the shadows of  
the chamber. Moments later, in walked priestess Tyaa.  
  
"I was able to locate some aether dust," she pulled a small pouch  
from her cloak. "This will get you past the doorway without tripping  
the ward on it." The woman opened the bag, then sprinkled some on  
Ridra's head. The dwarf sneezed, but remained corporeal, as his  
body's natural affinity against magic kicked in. Apparently the  
charm she'd placed on the dwarf prevented further magics from  
affecting him.  
  
"Looks like you'll have to do the dirty work yourself," said Varrk.  
  
Tyaa turned swiftly, a look of surprise on her face. When she'd  
returned later she thought the poisoned wine had killed him. What  
was also puzzling was she'd also posted "followers" at the entrace  
to the sewers to discourage any passerby. Varrk should never had  
made it past her sentries.  
  
"I thought you were a spellcaster," the hound archon moved into the  
torchlight. "Tell me, why would a Priestess of Leira help  
outsiders?"  
  
Tyaa stepped sideways, circling, biting her lip. Varrk's movements  
mirrored hers.  
  
"Don't make any sudden moves with those hands lady," Varrk drew his  
dagger. "The art isn't always faster than the blade."  
  
"Ridra," said the woman, "Remember what we talked about earlier?"  
  
Varrk's face twisted into a wry smile, "Nice try sister, but I'm not  
falling for it..." The rest of Varrk's words were cut-off by a a  
tremendous blast of pain in his skull. Like the man in the alley,  
the hound archon dropped unconscious on the ground. Ridra stood over  
the fallen creature, tapping her shrunken staff of striking into the  
palm of his other hand.  
  
"Very good," purred Tyaa.  
  
"Shall I finish him?" asked the dwarf evilly.  
  
"Nay. This chamber has other devices which will serve Leira. First  
I'll retrieve the item," she sprinkled the aether dust on her head,  
which transformed her into a translucent, ghostly image, then  
floated up to the ceiling and between the cracks of the secret door.  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
"Huh?" Varrk groaned as he woke. Water was splashing into his face.  
It was completely dark, and the loud sound of rushing water greeted  
his ears. The dank smell revealed he was still in the sewers and in  
the hidden chamber. The lump on his head told him that Ridra must  
have walloped him from behind. He sloshed around, the water was up  
to his ankles. The woman must have retrieved the item then sealed up  
the chamber -- after activating its trap.  
  
He struggled to his feet. Varrk cleared his head, thought of Tyaa's  
building and teleported out.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Tyaa Tymmyr's Apartment -- City of Westgate 4AM  
  
"You again!" Tyaa was bent over her desk, viewing an ancient scroll.  
She looked up as Varrk forced the door to her room. She snatched a  
thick pin from her belt, its end covered with a dark, gummy  
substance. "You keep popping up in all the wrong places."  
  
Varrk bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile, then whisked up one  
of the lady's chairs. Using its legs to block her tiny weapon he  
charged the assassin, smashing her against the wall. Varrk's hand  
clamped about her wrist while his body pinned her. She screamed for  
help as they struggled.  
  
"I already took care of your two playmates downstairs," said the  
hound archon. He wrestled the pin from the woman's grasp then  
dropped the chair. "Where's the dwarf?" he asked.  
  
When Tyaa said nothing, Varrk knew she'd murdered Ridra.  
  
The hound archon closed his eyes and the pair disappeared. Gone for  
but two eyeblinks he reappeared in Tyaa's apartment, alone, soaked  
nearly to his waist. He shook, collected the scroll from Tyaa's desk  
and walked calmly out.  
  
A few hours later he strolled through the door of the Blais Inn and  
met with Tolka, who released him from his quest. Then he wandered  
out into the taproom, looking for that rakshasa.  
  
THE END 


End file.
